


Anna Begins

by UAgirl



Category: Passions
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family, Language, Marriage of Convenience, Romance, Second Chances, Sexual Situations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-01-12 19:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1196214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UAgirl/pseuds/UAgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his twenty-odd years on the job, he'd never seen anything like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Anna Begins, Prologue  
> Rating: PG  
> Warnings: angst, character death(s)  
> Characters/Pairings: Theresa/Ethan, original character  
> Summary (for chapter): In his twenty-odd years on the job, he'd never seen anything like it.

Prologue

 

In his twenty-odd years on the job, he’d never seen anything like it. 

Black skid marks zigzagged wildly across the asphalt, leading to what was left of a mangled, and in this case, ineffectual guardrail poised on the precipice of a steep drop-off. 

The pungent odor of burnt rubber filled his nostrils as he peered into the deep ravine, barely able to assimilate that the piece of twisted metal wrapped around the base of the massive tree in a sickening embrace was the remains of a car. Orange flames licked at the car’s crumpled hood, and a black plume of smoke rose up in a mushroom-like cloud, the acrid smell grabbing him by the throat and making him choke. 

Amidst the sizzling snap and crackle of the flames he heard a sound that made his blood, pounding furiously through his veins, turn cold—a woman’s agonized screams. 

Common sense, logic told him he should wait for back-up, steel his heart, deafen his ears to the sound; experience told him differently. 

There was no time. 

He had at least one survivor in there—maybe more. It could be minutes before his call to the emergency crew garnered any results. Minutes he didn’t have. His guys were good. They never left a call for help unanswered. But sometimes, sometimes even they were a minute too late, and from the sounds of the screams, which had only grown more wrenching and hard to ignore as valuable seconds had ticked by while he’d waged his internal battle, he didn’t have that minute to spare. 

His decision made for him, he half slid, stumbled down the ravine to the scene, the heat of the growing flames making his face flush and sweat pop out on his brow. Reaching the passenger side of the car, he tried the handle and swore loudly when the door didn’t immediately give. Scrambling around to the car’s other side, he nearly cried out in relief when the door opened, but his joy was short-lived when he saw the driver’s bloodied remains. It wasn’t until he heard a voice hoarsely sob the question that he realized the screams had mercifully ceased. 

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” 

The brown eyes he met with his own were large and filled to brimming with unshed tears, and unable to voice a lie neither one of them would believe, he gave a short nod in response, even as he reached a hand out to grasp her thin shoulder. “I’m going to get you out. I’ve called for help. Can you move?” 

A single tear slipped down her cheek as she bit her lip and shook her head, a strand of dark hair falling into her eyes. “I think my legs are stuck.” 

For the first time letting his eyes drift down her torso, he tried to keep his expression neutral as he took in the gentle swell of her belly and the bloodied legs that disappeared beneath a hopeless twist of metal, and said a silent prayer. Swallowing down the lump of emotion lodged in his throat, he instead attempted a smile. “Got a little one on the way I see. Girl or boy?” 

“I…we,” she bit her lip as more tears started to fall, “wanted it to be a surprise.” Her hands were tense and white-knuckled on her abdomen. “But I know my husband wants,” her breath hitched painfully in her throat, and she dragged in several gasping breaths before she could continue. “Ethan wanted a little boy.” 

“Nothing wrong with sons,” he answered her, ghosting his hands over every inch of skin he could reach, making a mental note of each particular spot that made her wince, suck in a deep, rasping breath, cry out when the pain was too much to stand. “Got a daughter myself. I’d say she’s about your age.” He frowned as his eyes traveled down to her legs once more. “You can’t be a day over eighteen.” 

“Just a few days,” she gave him what might have passed for a teasing smile had the situation been drastically different. But there was certain look of understanding in her eyes, a growing acceptance of a truth he’d tried and failed to hide from her. “They’re not going to make it in time.” 

His eyes clenched shut momentarily, and he pondered voicing the weak denial poised on the tip of his tongue but found he couldn’t lie to her, not even to give himself the cheap false comfort. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that she had stretched one arm out, clutching her husband’s lifeless hand, while the other hand rest protectively on her belly as she whispered a broken apology and tearfully lamented the cruelty of the twist of fate that had led them all to this point on such an ordinary, beautiful day. 

In the distance an ambulance’s sirens wailed. 

“Do something for me.” 

She didn’t beg; she didn’t have to. He couldn’t save her, but he hoped he could give her some peace. “Sure, sweetheart.” His hand found its way into her hair, and he tucked the thick dark strands behind her ear just the way he used to tuck his own daughter’s hair behind her ear each night when he tucked her into bed with a kiss to her forehead and a softly murmured, “’Night, love.” 

“Make sure,” her face crumpled, but only for a moment before she seemed to gain strength from her own words. “Take Anna home.” 

“Anna?” his dark brows drew together. “I don’t understand,” he shook his head. The sirens loomed nearer, but he could see the reflection of the growing flames in her tortured brown eyes, and he knew that time had simply run out. “Where is home?” 

“Harmony,” she said, infusing the single word with so much love and such regret that it took her another long moment before she could continue. “Just…go. Go. And take my baby home for me,” her voice broke on a sob as she squeezed his hand hard and pushed him away. 

There was shouting, there were flashing lights, and suddenly there were hands, pulling him away. 

And there was Anna staring up at him from a wrinkled photograph with her too blue eyes and her tumbling dark curls, and he did something he’d never done during his twenty-odd years on the job: he laid his head in his hands, collapsed to his knees, and cried.


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s been over four years, Hank. Whatever Luis felt for me then doesn’t exist anymore..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Anna Begins, Chapter 1   
> Rating: PG  
> Warning: mild language, angst  
> Pairing/Characters: Sheridan/Hank, Pilar, Grace, original character, mention of Theresa/Ethan, Julian/Ivy, Sam, Luis, mention of Gwen  
> Summary (for chapter): “It’s been over four years, Hank. Whatever Luis felt for me then doesn’t exist anymore..."

“It was a good practice.” 

Sheridan whirled around at the familiar voice, the action toppling orange globes from her arms and sending them bouncing across the Youth Center floor. “Hank,” the startled smile on her face transformed into a genuine grin. “You’re back.” Frowning, she propped one hand upon her hip and looked at him accusingly. “I didn’t know you were back.” 

“Easy there, Princess,” Hank relieved her of the remainder of her burden, transferring the basketballs into their rightful cart. “It was a last minute type of thing. You,” he looked at her pointedly as he joined her in her efforts to retrieve the rest of the scattered equipment, “are the only person that knows I’m here.” 

“In that case, I guess I can forgive you,” she teased him fondly, juggling the basketballs again in her arms as she rose to her feet. 

Shaking his head as he assisted her, Hank was disbelieving. “What’s the matter with those kids? Passing up the chance to help a pretty lady like you? Maybe we should have a man to man talk.” 

“They’re ten,” Sheridan nudged the cart forward. “Girls still have cooties.” 

“But not Miss Sheridan.” 

Laughing, Sheridan answered, “Miss Sheridan too.” Placing the cart next to the bleachers against the gymnasium’s wall, she gave Hank’s appearance another glance. Smirking at the standard uniform of leather jacket, worn jeans, and slightly wrinkled tee-shirt, she couldn’t resist comment. “Not your typical James Bond getup.” 

“You kidding?” Hank bumped shoulders companionably with her as they meandered across the court to what was and always would be Luis’s domain—the office. “I’m way cooler than James Bond.” He raised a brow at the sleek new computer resting atop the desk and the comfy-looking leather chair which Sheridan promptly took a seat in. Only the ratty-looking sofa in the corner retained any sense of familiarity for him. “Doesn’t really go with the new décor of the place, does it?” 

“Luis had the new one delivered to the cottage,” Sheridan replied, frustration evident in her voice. “Sam finally convinced him the computer could be useful.” 

“Ah,” Hank nodded, perching himself on the desk’s edge and looking down at her as she ran tired hands through her short blond hair. “Still being a regular old pain in the ass, is he?” 

“Pain in the ass doesn’t even begin to describe it,” Sheridan muttered, her words muffled by the hands covering her face. “When he can stand to spend more than ten minutes in a room with me. If you hadn’t have told me differently, I’d swear…” When Hank said nothing, only waited for her to continue, she picked up a pen tucked beside the keyboard and twirled it nervously in her fingers. “Sometimes, Hank, I’d swear he wished...” 

Alarmed that she would even hint at such a thing, Hank jumped in to defend the obstinate man he’d called his friend for almost his entire life. “Luis would never wish that. Do I have to tell you again how frantic he was to get to you in time? He was a man possessed trying to rescue you. If you don’t believe me, ask anybody in this town and they’ll tell you the same thing.” 

“He sure has a funny way of showing it,” Sheridan answered him, voice tight. Tapping the pen in her hand against the desktop, she glared at Hank when he snatched it out of her hand. “It’s been over four years, Hank. Whatever Luis felt for me then doesn’t exist anymore. It ended when I lied to him and kept him in the dark about the plan.” 

“Feelings like that don’t just die, Princess,” Hank lay a comforting hand over hers. 

Pulling her hand free, Sheridan refused to meet Hank’s sympathetic brown eyes, the set of her jaw stubborn. Molding her palm over the wireless mouse in front of her, she brought the computer screen in front of her alive with one click of a button, studiously ignoring him. “You say that, but he hasn’t forgiven you either.” 

“He just needs more time,” Hank said, knowing he didn’t sound the least bit convincing. “He’ll come around. He always has. This time…this time’s just taken a little bit longer than the others.” He looked up when he felt the gentle weight of her hand in his once more and smiled just a little bit when he saw compassion reflected back to him in the blue of her eyes. Finally, he ventured a question when the silence stretched on uncomfortably and the emotions their conversation had dredged back up were too much, even for him. “What?” 

“Have I ever told you how much I hate the nickname ‘Princess’?” 

 

~*~

 

The letter was dated three months ago, and her daughter’s flowery handwriting filled the pages with snippets of a life Pilar could only pretend to imagine. She trailed her fingertips again over the passage that detailed Anna’s fascination with shoes of all kinds and smiled when she glanced once more at the photograph that had accompanied the letter: her granddaughter in a diaper, a floppy-billed hat, pink feather boa, and Audrey Hepburn sunglasses perched on the tip of her button nose, her tiny feet adorned with appropriately pink high heels. 

“Is that her?” 

Pilar startled at the childish voice, folding the pages of the letter back up and stuffing them quickly into the pocket of her apron. She blinked to find the owner of the voice mere inches away, elbows resting on the same counter the picture now rested on. 

“Hope,” Grace chided from the other room. “I thought I told you not to bother Pilar.” 

“I’m not bothering Pilar,” Hope answered, propping her chin in her hands. Blue eyes curiously peering at the picture, she wrinkled her freckled nose as she considered something. “Kay says I’m only a half aunt. How’s that different from a whole aunt?”

Grace appeared at her young daughter’s side before Pilar had time to formulate an answer, and Pilar found herself inordinately thankful for the timely interruption. 

“I’m sorry, Pilar,” Grace apologized. Smoothing a motherly hand over Hope’s chin-length ginger hair, she quietly admonished the child once again. “I thought I told you to put flowers in all of the rooms.” 

Unruffled, Hope replied, “I did.” 

“Did you make sure all the guests had mints?” 

After a brief pause, Hope nodded. “Uh huh.” 

“Hope,” Grace eyed the little girl suspiciously, grasping her chin and searching her blue eyes. “Say ‘ah’.” 

Groaning, Hope blurted a premature confession, “I didn’t eat all of them. I promise.” 

Lips twitching, Grace’s attempt to be stern fell a little flat, but only Pilar seemed to notice. The women shared a knowing smile, and Grace sent Hope on her way to deliver the mints, for real this time. “Sorry,” she apologized once more. “She’s so much like Kay sometimes,” she mused. “Always asks the hard questions.” Grace’s fingers hovered above the photograph. “May I?” 

Pilar watched the play of emotions across her friend’s face as she studied the picture. 

“She has Ethan’s eyes,” Grace finally whispered. “Bennett eyes.” Offering the worn photograph back to Pilar, her smile was more genuine. “She’s adorable.” 

“Thank you,” Pilar murmured, regarding the picture for a moment longer. She looked up questioningly when she felt Grace’s light touch on her arm. 

“It won’t be forever. Harmony’s still her home.” 

 

~*~

 

Glass of brandy in hand, Julian hovered in the doorway, reluctant to cross the threshold into the room he’d come to think of as his wife’s ‘Ethan Memorial.’ Watching her smooth imaginary wrinkles out of a garment laden with more lace and bows than he deemed savory, he felt pity well up inside of him even as the mean-spirited remark spewed from his mouth almost against his will. “I don’t know why you bother buying things for a child you’ve never met, a child you would have never seen a picture of if Sheridan hadn’t been such a softhearted fool.” 

Ivy remained silent, but her blue green eyes were fiery as they acknowledged him then quickly turned elsewhere. 

Daring to take a step into the room, Julian’s own eyes were drawn to a photo displayed on the mantelpiece several feet in front of him. The quality of the copy was grainy, and the cropping was crudely done, but it was still a fine rendition of the boy he’d raised into a man holding his infant daughter in his arms. Glancing away uncomfortably when it became evident that he’d been caught staring, Julian cleared his throat and gazed toward one of the open windows on the other side of the room, letting his attention focus on the draperies fluttering in the warm evening breeze. 

Sighing, Ivy folded her arms across her chest and demanded, “Was there something you wanted, Julian?” 

“The mayor and his wife are joining us for dinner tonight,” Julian raised his glass to his lips, the corners of his mouth twisting in a parody of a smile. “Just wanted to make sure you remembered to act your part and not further embarrass the Crane name. And for God’s sake,” he indicated the silk robe wrapped around her shoulders in disgust, “change out of that damn thing. Pick something more appropriate. You have a closet full of absurdly expensive clothes bought with my money. At least put them to good use.” 

“Anything else?” Ivy questioned, her tone icy. 

“As a matter of fact,” Julian answered back, just as icily. “Move on. This,” he indicated the room with a sweeping gesture of his arm, “is pathetic.” 

 

~*~

 

“You wanted to see me, Sam?” Luis eased the door to Sam’s office shut behind him then crossed the small room to Sam’s desk, standing at attention. 

“Take a seat, Luis,” Sam suggested, leaning back in his own chair. 

Luis followed Sam’s instruction, sitting down and resting his palms against his thighs. When Sam made no further attempt at conversation, Luis’s gaze drifted over the various personal effects that littered Sam’s desk, including a picture of Charity and Miguel taken on their wedding day a little over a year ago. The young couple had been traveling ever since, making their way from small town to small town. Eventually, the silence grew to be too much, and Luis cleared his throat. “Did you see the new postcard?” 

“Connecticut,” Sam nodded. “The Bed and Breakfast there reminded them of home.” 

“How’s Grace doing, by the way? And Hope? Man, she’s growing up,” Luis tipped his head toward the little girl’s likeness proudly displayed in numerous instances all over Sam’s desk. 

“Grace is doing fine,” Sam answered, “and there’s never a dull moment with Hope in the house. But you know that. I’m sure Pilar’s told you.” 

“I want to thank you again, Sam, for letting Mama help out at the Bed and Breakfast. It was good for her to get out of that house. Away from the Cranes,” Luis spoke vehemently of his mother’s former employers. 

“Thank Grace,” Sam said, leaning forward in his chair and letting his elbows rest on his desk while he folded his hands together in contemplation. “Luis, I didn’t call you into my office to make small talk about our families. There’s something more serious I want to address.” 

Luis’s brows rose expectantly. 

“There’ve been some complaints.” 

“Complaints?” Luis frowned in confusion. “I’m not sure I understand.” 

“You’re one of my best detectives, Luis,” Sam began, stalling until he could figure out the best way to phrase what he wanted to say. “But lately…” 

“Sam, does this have anything to do the argument I had with Sheridan?” 

“Which one?” Sam quipped, continuing when Luis looked sufficiently chagrined. “Sheridan was trying to do a nice thing for the kids, Luis. Raking her over the coals in front of half a dozen children and a couple of parents wasn’t the most sensible thing you’ve ever done. This isn’t about the argument with Sheridan. At least not *just* that argument. It’s about all the arguments with Sheridan. All your very public tirades and airing of prejudices against the Cranes and people like them, Luis. Your handling of Gwen Hotchkiss’s arrest for one.” 

“Her blood alcohol level was over the legal limit,” Luis protested. “She resisted all of my attempts to subdue her.” 

“From where I was standing it looked like she was having a very public, painful breakdown,” Sam stated. “Your approach only added to her humiliation. I’m sure your personal feelings about her involvement in the whole mess with Ethan and Theresa had nothing to do with anything, did they?” 

Luis felt his irritation and defenses grow. “Are you accusing me of being unprofessional, Sam?” 

Sighing, Sam repeated his earlier statement. “You’re one of my best detectives, Luis. I’m not saying you’re unprofessional. I’m just saying…” 

Frustrated, Luis cut him off. “What are you saying, Sam?” 

“You’ve changed, Luis. You’re so full of anger and bitterness that you’re not even seeing the world straight anymore. I’m saying wake up before you reach a point of no return.” 

Indignant, Luis opened his mouth to dispute Sam’s charges against him, but Sam wouldn’t allow it. 

“I’m not just saying this as your police chief, Luis,” Sam’s expression was serious. “I’m saying this as your friend. As of this moment, you’re on indefinite leave. Show me that you’ve undergone a serious attitude adjustment or that you’re at least beginning to, and I’ll let you come back. Until then, you’re not to step foot in this building. Understood?” 

“Perfectly,” Luis said blackly, jaw set in stone as he laid his gun and his badge down on Sam’s desk. “Anything else?” 

“That’s all,” Sam shook his head. Watching Luis’s retreating back disappear, he whispered, “I’m doing this for your own good, Luis.”


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...she wondered, not for the first time, how she could be so attached to a child that had been such a contradiction, both the blessing and the curse that had kept their parents’ marriage alive when the revelation of her father’s youthful indiscretions might have destroyed it completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Anna Begins, Chapter 2  
> Rating: PG tops  
> Warning: angst  
> Pairing/Characters: Sheridan/Hank, mentions of Ethan, original character, Kay, mentions of the Russells, Eve/Julian, original character, mentions of Sam/Grace, Luis, Pilar, mention of Gwen.   
> Summary (for chapter): ...she wondered, not for the first time, how she could be so attached to a child that had been such a contradiction, both the blessing and the curse that had kept their parents’ marriage alive when the revelation of her father’s youthful indiscretions might have destroyed it completely.

The cottage hadn’t changed much, Hank mused, thumbs hooked in his belt loops as he wandered toward the fireplace and Sheridan’s collection of mementos of those near and dear to her. Unsurprisingly, the photographs were of a select few people, Ethan and a dark curled little girl featured more prominently than anyone else.

“Hank?!” Calling out to him from the kitchen where she gathered plates for the pizza they’d picked up along the way, Sheridan’s voice was muffled but still distinguishable. “What do you want to drink?” 

Distractedly, Hank answered her. “What are my choices?” Startling when he felt the distinct sensation of being watched, he placed the silver frame in his hands back on the mantel, and turned to face her fully. “Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly. “Guess I didn’t hear you.” 

Arms crossed across her chest and shoulder leaning against the doorframe, Sheridan simply smiled in response. “That’s one of my favorites.” 

Judging by sheer numbers present on the mantel alone, Hank guessed she had a lot of favorites. He kept his teasing gentle when he answered her; there was something slightly heartbreaking about the smallness of her circle of loved ones. “How many favorites do you have?” 

Rolling her eyes at him, Sheridan disappeared back into the kitchen only to return seconds later with two paper plates and two ice-cold beers clinking together in her hands. At his expression, she shrugged, “Beer goes with pizza.” 

Taking the plates from her hands and one of the condensation covered bottles, Hank carried them to the coffee table where heady aromas wafted from a cardboard box that was still warm. “Beer goes great with pizza,” he agreed, lifting the lid of the box and snagging a piece for her, mozzarella stretching then hanging loosely in strings below the paper plate he presented to her. “You dusted off the fine china too.” 

“I’ve learned a few things volunteering at the Youth Center all these years,” Sheridan boasted lightly, plucking a piece of pepperoni free from her slice of pizza. “Sometimes paper plates are just more practical.” 

“Oh, I see,” Hank grinned. “You’re older and wiser now.” Holding up a defensive hand, he staved off her would be attack, sinking his teeth into his own piece of pizza and taking a generous bite. “Trust me, I mean that in the most flattering way.” 

“Yeah right,” Sheridan muttered, slumping further down into the sofa’s cushions and resting her head on Hank’s tee-shirt clad shoulder. The minutes ticked by, no words spoken, until Sheridan sighed and gave the hand that rest upon her knee an affectionate pat. “You can stay here for the night, not worry about checking into the Bed and Breakfast for the night. I got clean sheets and an extra pillow with your name on it.” 

“Are you propositioning me, Princess?” Hank wiggled his brows at her suggestively. 

“In your dreams,” she scoffed, giving his wandering hand a playful shove as she climbed to her feet and looked down at him with playfulness in her blue eyes. “The couch. Take it or leave it. No negotiations.” 

“On one condition,” Hank bargained, enjoying the way her lips twitched with the effort it took to suppress her smile. 

“And?” 

“Got any ice cream for dessert?” 

 

~*~

 

“Race you,” Hope challenged, darting past her older sister on a pair of secondhand rollerblades that were still a good size and a half too big for her. 

“Hope,” Kay made a belated, halfhearted grab for her little sister, but it was too late. “Hope, come back here,” she called, wincing as she watched Hope nearly collide with a neighbor out walking his dog. “Sorry,” Kay offered, jogging past the disgruntled man in an attempt to catch up with the willful child. Slightly out of breath, she reached the unrepentant girl’s side. “I thought I told you…” 

“Aww, Kay,” Hope whined, nose scrunching up and mouth looking pinched. “You’re no fun. You never want to race, and you’re always making me wear these sttttuupppiddd knee pads.” 

She drew the words out with such exasperation Kay had to laugh. The knee pads did look stupid, and the helmet dwarfed her head, only a few strands of red peeking out. Not to mention the extra pair of socks she’d had to pull over wiggling toes so that the skates would even stay in place. “I am too fun,” she finally said, calling upon her inner child to make the words echo Hope’s earlier tone. That, along with a teasing tweaking of Hope’s nose, earned her an ear to ear smile. 

“Okay,” Hope sighed dramatically mere minutes later. “I promise not to go too fast.” She glided forward, muttering under her breath. 

Kay smiled to herself when she thought she heard the much uttered ‘grownups’ and resumed the leisurely pace she’d set when they’d left the house half an hour earlier. As she strolled along the sidewalk, her attention would stray from time to time from the image of her little sister hurtling herself forward on wobbly legs to the houses that lined the street. Already she’d passed the Russell house. Finding it dark, she’d made a likely assumption—Dr. Russell worked long hours at the hospital, even longer now since the revelation that her failed relationship with Julian Crane had borne a child had driven a wedge between her and Coach Russell. And, with both Simone and Whitney away and no longer calling Harmony home, Coach Russell spent much of his time at the high school. So much had changed in the past four years, Kay realized. If it weren’t for the frequent weekend visits she made from school, it’d all be hopelessly unrecognizable to her. “Hope,” she cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled at the girl that was but a distant figure to her now. “It’s getting dark. We should head back soon.” 

Hope gave no indication that she heard her, continuing to scuttle forward, rounding a corner and disappearing from sight. 

“Hope!” Kay felt her heart lurch inside her chest when the little nuisance was no longer visible, and she wondered, not for the first time, how she could be so attached to a child that had been such a contradiction, both the blessing and the curse that had kept their parents’ marriage alive when the revelation of her father’s youthful indiscretions might have destroyed it completely. Making a sharp turn at the corner she’d last seen Hope, she skidded to an abrupt stop, hand to her panic-tightened throat at the scene she happened upon. 

Spread-eagled and unmoving, Hope lay beneath a swinging FOR SALE sign, one skate dangling off her socked foot. Above her, a golden retriever whined, dropping its head to sniff at her flushed, freckled face. 

“Oh my God,” Kay finally found her voice and her feet again. “Hope, say something. Are you okay?” Her question met with silence, Kay feared the worst until a familiar sound had her rolling her eyes then smiling in exasperation. 

The golden retriever was licking her face, and Hope squealed with laughter. Small fingers buried in the dog’s soft yellow fur, she tried to dodge the affectionate assault with little success. “Kay,” she finally struck a hand out. “Help me,” she giggled. 

Dragging the kid to her feet, Kay also bent to pick up the dislodged skate. “Told you not to go too fast,” she grumbled, shaking her head. “Tell the dog goodbye. If we’re late for dinner, Mom’s not going to be happy.” 

Pressing a reluctant goodbye kiss between the dog’s ears, Hope complied, slipping her hand in Kay’s hand and limping unevenly along. 

A couple of awkward feet later, Kay slowed to a stop and crouched down with a long-suffering sigh. “Climb on, Doggy Breath.” Groaning as she stood back up and adjusted the arms wrapped around her neck in a stranglehold, Kay set off again for home, Hope’s feet bouncing and her giggles resounding in her ears. “When’d you get so heavy?”

“When I turned four.” 

 

~*~

 

“I’ll get the dishes, Mama,” Luis covered Pilar’s hand with his own when it moved to gather up the plates and silverware they’d used for their small meal. “Go into the living room. Put your feet up.” 

“Thank you, mi hijo,” Pilar pressed a kiss to the top of Luis’s dark head, her hands warm on his face. Her movements were slow, tired, and a little sad as she followed his advice, leaving him alone. 

Sighing, Luis pushed himself to his feet, stacking the dishes on top of each other and crossing the short distance to the kitchen sink. He scowled at the three flames flickering against the dusk darkened window above the sink, barely resisting the urge to put them out with one mighty breath. Turning the tap on, he tested the water temperature then added some detergent. 

In the living room, he heard the muted sounds of the television. 

The rhythmic motions of scrubbing and rinsing the dishes were eventually enough to lull him into a calmer state, but Luis’s mind was far from worry-free. He’d struggled during dinner to find the opportune time to admit to his mother that he’d let her down, but he hadn’t been able to force the words out, and now, he wondered if it were such a good idea to admit the truth to her at all. No need to worry her over nothing, right? All he needed was a weekend to convince Sam he’d had a change of heart, and he’d back at work, nobody save Sam and he the wiser. It should be simple. 

It was anything but simple. 

As much as he hated to own up to the fact, Sam was right. His behavior toward Sheridan as of late had been uncalled for, and he’d bordered on unprofessionalism when he’d slapped a pair of handcuffs around Gwen Hotchkiss’s wrists at the latest benefit profiting the new Harmony clinic in the early stages of development. 

Drunk and bordering on hysteria, the woman had gotten underneath his skin. 

Sam had been wrong about one thing though. 

His personal feelings about her involvement in the leaking of Ethan’s paternity to that dirty tabloid and Theresa’s subsequent departure from Harmony not long after hadn’t been the compelling factor in his demeanor when he’d arrested her. No. That hadn’t been it at all. 

It’d been the brief flicker of devastating, festering pain and regret in her brown eyes. 

It was like looking in the mirror at an image he couldn’t bring himself to face, and so he’d felt he had no other choice. In some small way, he’d punished her for making him face his own feelings, never mind the fact that her blood alcohol had later proven to be twice the legal limit. Never mind the fact that she *had* resisted his lame attempts to calm her.

She’d been broken and bleeding and begging for a brief respite from it all. 

And what had he done? 

Nothing. 

The knowledge burned and settled like a bitter stone at the base of Luis’s stomach. 

He’d done nothing.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every couple of months a package arrived in the mail. Sometimes it was just a bundle of letters. Other times, there’d be pictures. Once, there’d even been a videotape, but only the once. Never was there a return address.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Anna Begins, Chapter 3  
> Rating: PG  
> Warnings: Angst, Mild Language  
> Characters/Pairings: Kay, Sam, mentions of Grace, Charity/Miguel, original character, Luis, Pilar, mentions of Theresa/Ethan, Hank, Sheridan  
> Summary (for chapter): Every couple of months a package arrived in the mail. Sometimes it was just a bundle of letters. Other times, there’d be pictures. Once, there’d even been a videotape, but only the once. Never was there a return address.

Chapter 3

 

 

 

 

Eyes ringed with black circles and bleary from lack of sleep—reluctantly sharing a bed with a restless four-year-old tended to have that effect on some people—Kay padded out of her old bedroom the following morning on bare feet and quietly pushed the door shut behind her. Across the hall, her dad had just emerged from Charity’s old room, looking even worse for wear. “Dad,” she acknowledged. 

“Kay.” Sam’s voice sounded an octave higher even to his own ears. Rubbing a hand through his wayward hair uncomfortably, he couldn’t keep his eyes from darting down the hall where Grace had yet to materialize, and he rambled off the first excuse that came to mind. “I…uh, I didn’t want your mother to catch the cold I have.” He coughed for added effect. “You know she hasn’t been feeling well exactly.” 

Kay didn’t buy his excuse for a split second, but she remained mum on the subject, her only answer the arching of a thin black brow. 

Coughing awkwardly again, Sam motioned for her to precede him down the hallway. “Come on,” he fell into step behind her, wincing as the top step creaked beneath first Kay’s weight then his own. “I’ll make you a cup of coffee. You look like you need it almost as much as I do.” 

“Thanks, Dad,” Kay muttered dryly, feet thudding lightly against the stairs as she descended them. A few minutes later, she slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, hooking her ankles around its legs and drumming her fingers absently against the tabletop while Sam puttered around the kitchen, scratching his head in thought as he searched the cabinets for the last of the coffee. 

“How’s school?” he asked the oft-asked question as he measured the coffee beans and placed them in the machine. 

“School’s school,” Kay shrugged noncommittally. “How’s work?” she asked her own standardized question. Somewhere along the way she’d stopped being daddy’s little girl, and he’d stopped being her perfect father figure. She mourned the loss. Still, she accepted the change. People grew up, grew apart. Families dissolved. Even hers it seemed, despite her parents’ attempts at keeping up appearances. 

“Work’s work,” Sam sighed, clinking two coffee mugs together as he withdrew them from the cupboards. Settling them and the creamer and sugar onto the table in front of her, he frowned when he noticed where her attention had drifted—to Charity and Miguel’s latest postcard tacked onto the refrigerator next to Hope’s newest crayola masterpiece. “Connecticut,” he answered the unspoken question in her eyes. “Pretty, isn’t it?” 

“Looks like something I saw on t.v. once,” Kay replied, giving him a too bright smile. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she resisted meeting his eyes, not wanting to see the pity there. It’d taken a hard smack of reality upside the head to make her realize Miguel would never love her *that* way. Unfortunately, the moment of proof hadn’t been a private one. Remembering the tears she’d shed and the pleas she’d made a little over a year ago, Kay wanted to crawl beneath the nearest rock and hide. It was a little unnecessary when every last one of the short list of people she’d called friend had moved away and left her far behind. She was still tracing the pattern of the red and white checks on the tablecloth when her mother entered the kitchen, Hope’s arms draped over her slender shoulders. She watched her mom transfer the sleepy little girl into her father’s arms, careful to avoid any unnecessary contact, and the air in the small kitchen suddenly grew too stifling, her lungs short of oxygen. Blurting out the first silly excuse that came to mind, she escaped from the kitchen to the back yard and curled her legs beneath her on the creaky old swing, steadfastly ignoring the chill in the morning air as she wiped at the tears she felt stinging the corners of her eyes with the back of her hand. 

No one ran after her. 

She hadn’t expected them to. 

 

~*~

 

It was just another thing they didn’t talk about—not with words anyway. 

They let their actions speak for them. 

Every couple of months a package arrived in the mail. Sometimes it was just a bundle of letters. Other times, there’d be pictures. Once, there’d even been a videotape, but only the once. Never was there a return address. 

Luis hadn’t mentioned the fact that he’d had some guys at the station take a look at the videotape to see if they could pinpoint a location, anything that might give him a clue where Ethan and his little sister were, but he had a feeling his mother knew by the dejected slump of his shoulders when his efforts had yielded no results. 

A package would come in the mail, his mother would pore over every word, trace her fingers over every inch as if by touching Theresa’s words she could somehow physically touch Theresa herself, and memorize them, and a few days later, the letter, the picture would magically appear where Luis would stumble upon it. 

This morning his niece’s blue eyes had stared at him over a pair of ridiculously large sunglasses from the dashboard of his jeep. 

It’d taken several miles before the aching tightness in Luis’s throat had lessened, and it only disappeared in agonizingly slow-passing increments of time when he’d pushed the jeep door open, his feet shifting in the night-cooled sand as he sought out the water’s edge. 

“Dear Mama…” Theresa wrote. 

 

~*~

 

“You better not be reading porn,” Hank warned as he wandered into Sheridan’s kitchen, dressed in boxers and the same wrinkled tee-shirt from the day before. 

Bare legs peeking out from beneath the pink silk robe wrapped around her body, Sheridan was completely engrossed with something on the screen of her laptop. 

Hank being, well, Hank, had to find out what was so fascinating that she’d not bothered to respond to his baiting with a smart-aleck remark or barb of her own. Sidling up behind the barstool she was perched on, he peered over her shoulder, slightly disappointed to discover she was only perusing her email. Most of them, it turned out, were from Ethan. “Damn,” he swore softly as he spun on his heel, searching through her cupboards for a clean glass. “Thought I had caught you in the act.” 

“Hank,” Sheridan muttered. 

“Yeah, Princess?” Hank replied after downing his glass of orange juice in one long gulp. 

“Shut up.” 

“Touchy,” Hank cracked a grin, picking up the morning newspaper from the kitchen table and skimming its pages as he paused in front of the picture window to stare at the Crane Mansion, looming forebodingly in the horizon and appropriately blocking out the morning sun’s brightest rays. “What’s for breakfast?” 

Arching a disbelieving brow at him, Sheridan indicated the toaster next to the refrigerator. “There’s bread. Make yourself some toast. I don’t care much for scrambled eggs anymore.” 

Wincing slightly, Hank doubted she realized the sting of her own words. “Any new pictures of the munchkin?” When Sheridan waved him off with an impatient hand, he muttered under his breath, “Somebody sure is grumpy today.” 

“Dammit, Hank!” Sheridan finally snapped.

“Whoa, hold up now,” Hank felt his anger rising then abruptly fading into concern when he noticed the ashen pallor her face had taken on. “Sheridan?” Crossing the room to her in three easy strides, he took the trembling hand she blindly struck out. “What the hell are you looking at that has you so…” 

“Hank,” her voice escaped in a strangled whisper as the hand he held encased in his own clutched convulsively at the fabric of his tee-shirt. “Hank,” she pleaded, her eyes begging him to tell her she was seeing, imagining things. “Tell me…it’s not true. Tell me it’s not true,” she keened as he pulled her away from the computer and into a tight embrace. 

Hank felt the world drop out from under him as he registered the words on the screen. 

There had been an accident.


End file.
